


memento mori

by rudderless in an ocean of stars (indelibly_ellie)



Series: between dust and despair [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Guilt, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark is not okay, Tony-centric, honestly nobody’s okay, im not even okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 02:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14510619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indelibly_ellie/pseuds/rudderless%20in%20an%20ocean%20of%20stars
Summary: The darkness gives way to dreams, and Tony Stark is reminded that for him, peace will always be a fleeting thing.//A direct continuation of ‘see how deep the bullet lies’.





	memento mori

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Memento Mori - 勿忘你终有一死](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14586123) by [rudderless in an ocean of stars (indelibly_ellie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indelibly_ellie/pseuds/rudderless%20in%20an%20ocean%20of%20stars), [Uryan_Karl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uryan_Karl/pseuds/Uryan_Karl)



> Just for clarity’s sake, this series is entirely canon-compliant with the exception of Pepper and Tony’s engagement. In this series, after the events of Civil War, they transitioned back to being close friends with a healthy relationship. :)
> 
> I know the first part was short, so hopefully this makes up for its brevity. :D

In the darkness, he dreams.

 

In the darkness, he remembers.

 

He’s on the floor. Ribs aching, cheek smarting, gulping for breath as loudly as he dares with his father looming over him like a tower built of condensed rage.

 

The tile is cool under his fingers, solid. In no danger of crumbling, unlike him. He clings to that sensation as his heart hammers out a frantic staccato in his chest. His mind hums out a familiar mantra as he locks his gaze onto his father’s shadow, stretching out across the hall.

 

_Stay quiet. Don’t look up. Stay quiet, don’t look up._

_Don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t-_

 

“Real life has real consequences, Tony!” Howard’s voice is a booming clap of thunder that echoes in a house otherwise devoid of sound. “I’m just trying to prepare you for that!”

 

Before he can so much as take another gasping breath, the world dissolves in a swirl of dust, leaving him alone in the desolate remains of a dead planet.

 

_Mr. Stark... I don’t feel so good._

 

His father’s voice is ringing in his ears, echoing like a broken record player endlessly caught in the same audio loop.

 

Real life has real consequences, Tony.

 

_I don’t know what’s happening._

 

Real life has real consequences.

 

_I don’t wanna go, Mr. Stark, please-_

 

Real life has real consequences.

 

_I’m sorry._

 

**I’m just trying to prepare you for that.**

 

There is dust on his hands, on his clothes, on his skin.

 

It’s even in the very air he breathes, filling his lungs, coating his throat, flooding his mouth the the taste of ash. The taste of death.

 

It’s everywhere.

 

It’s everything.

 

It’s-

 

He wakes up with a dead boy’s name on his lips and a desperate scream building in his lungs.

 

The room he finds himself in is white.

 

White walls, white floors, white sheets covering his skin.

 

Clean, much too clean, for a place _he_ should be in.

 

His world has no room for white with the taste of ash still lingering on his tongue.

 

Movement by the open doorway draws his gaze.

 

A young woman steps towards the bed he’s sitting up in, eyes soft and full of concern. There’s something familiar about her features, about the quiet, steady grace she exudes without effort. Two more steps and the realization strikes him just moments before she introduces herself.

 

“Mr. Stark? I am Shuri... Queen of Wakanda.” She tacks on the last part as an afterthought, the corners of her mouth tilting downwards as she speaks. “You’re in the medical wing of the palace right now, and your injuries should be close to fully healed. Are you in any pain? I heard you cry out.”

 

He doesn’t need to ask about her brother. If her title hadn’t already made it obvious, the slight, sorrowful slump of her shoulders does.

 

Dead or dusted? Whatever Thanos had done had surely been universal.

 

His heart lurches at the thought, and he keeps the question tucked firmly away in the back of his throat. Vaguely, he realizes that the ache in his side is gone. It doesn’t make much of a difference though, considering the fact that every fiber of his being still throbs with the kind of pain that runs deeper than anything physical ever could.

 

“Mr. Stark?”

 

“Sorry.” He clears his throat before speaking again. “I’m not in any pain.”

 

What’s one more lie to add to the laundry list of his sins? It’s not anything he doesn’t deserve to feel, anyways.

 

She nods and takes a step back.

 

 _She‘s just a kid_ , he thinks. _Peter is probably right around her age._

 

His breath hitches in his throat.

 

 _Was_ , he reminds himself, lowering his eyes to stare down at his bare feet hanging just inches off of the floor.

 

“Your friends have been waiting to see you. You’ve been unconscious for several hours since your arrival. Would you like me to call them here?”

 

 _Friends_. Another spasm of his treacherous heart. _Yeah, right._

 

“No, thank you.” He forces himself to look back up at her and tries for a smile. “I could use some shoes, though.”

 

She smiles back. The gesture a little sheepish, stilted, and more than a little sad.

 

“I completely forgot! I’m sorry, I’ll be right back.” She turns and hurries out of the room before he can blink.

 

Ten minutes later, he finds himself being shown to another set of rooms by one of the Dora Milaje, who leaves him at the door with a curt nod of farewell.

 

It’s spacious, and the decor manages to be elegant in its utilitarianism. What’s left of his old clothes is on the bed, the arc reactor glowing steadily atop the tattered pile of cloth. Shuri had already explained how she’d had to remove both the reactor the vestiges of the suit to repair his wounds, eyes gleaming in a way that kept him from having to ask how she’d managed to do it at all.

 

If there’s anything he’s sure of, it’s that whatever’s left of Wakanda is in good hands with a genius for a queen.

 

In the closet he finds several changes of clothes, all in his size. He grabs a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt at random and finds his way to the bathroom. The water is nearly scalding, turning his skin red as he stands beneath the shower spray, but he doesn’t move to alter the heat.

 

Whatever Shuri had done to fix him up rivals even Helen’s work, completely erasing all evidence of the wound that, by all rights, probably would’ve killed him had Nebula taken them anywhere else.

 

He runs his fingers over the newly healed skin, the memory of blood-stained fingers still fresh in his mind. A normal person would be grateful, but Tony Stark has never been normal in his life. All he can feel is a crushing, crippling sense of abject failure because he never should have been injured in the first place. He should have planned better, fought better, _been_ better.

 

But he hadn’t.

 

And now Peter Parker is dead and in the universal coin toss between life or death, Tony had somehow landed on the side of the living.

 

Half of the universe dead to pay for his mistakes, his failures, and yet Tony is still here, still alive and breathing despite the fact that he’s the last person who deserves to be.

 

When he finally emerges from the bathroom, there’s an assassin perched on his bed.

 

Natasha’s ditched the trademark red in favor of blonde, but the smirk tugging at the corners of her lips is unmistakable, even if it’s not as sharp or as playful as it used it to be.

 

“Hey, stranger,” she quips, trying to sound upbeat.

 

The illusion is ruined by the slightly puffy appearance of her eyes, lightly rimmed with red. Small details, inconsequential if it were anyone but Natasha Romanoff he was currently looking at. Still, relief floods his veins at the sound of her voice.

 

 _She’s alive_ , his mind sings, _alive, alive, **alive**_.

 

Natasha Romanoff is nothing if not a survivor.

 

The smile that breaks out across his face is faint, but for the first time since he’d promised a dying boy he’d be alright even as he crumbled to dust before his eyes, it’s real.

 

He rushes forward to hug her so quickly that they both end up toppling back onto the sheets in a tangle of limbs, but it’s okay because she’s _real_ and she’s _here_ and her body is _solid_ beneath his, flesh and blood instead of dust.

 

She tolerates it for a minute longer than he expects her to before pushing him away and sitting back up. After a moment, she drags him upright too.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

His smile turns brittle. Leave it to Natasha to immediately pick a topic of conversation currently filed under Things Tony Stark is Not Prepared to Talk About, not for the next thousand years or so at a minimum.

 

“Shuri made sure I was all healed up before she let me out of her sight.”

 

“Not what I asked.” She frowns, tilting her head and shooting a pointed look down at his hands. “And you know it.”

 

In an effort to keep the trembling from being blatantly obvious, he’d been keeping them carefully folded together since the moment she’d pulled away from his embrace. Not that he hadn’t counted on Natasha not to notice. He’d just been hoping she wouldn’t comment on it.

 

An exercise in futility now, obviously.

 

“Can we just... Not?” He swallows. “Not right now, at least.”

 

Nodding, she stands, shoving her hands into the pockets of the grey hoodie she’s wearing in lieu of her tactical uniform.

 

“Later, then. I’ll let you get some rest for now.” She’s already halfway out the door when she turns back to flash him a small, sincere smile. “I’m just three doors down, to the left, if you need anything, okay?”

 

“Pepper, Happy, Rhodes,” he says, the words bursting from his lips on impulse alone. “Do you know-?”

 

It’s slight, but Natasha winces. Dread pools in the pit of his stomach as she opens her mouth to speak.

 

“Rhodes is fine. But... No one can reach Pepper or Happy.”

 

He has to force himself to stay upright instead of doubling over onto the floor and never getting back up again. For a second, his father’s face flashes before his eyes.

 

_Real life has real consequences, Tony._

 

He shuts his eyes and wills the image away.

 

“And the- the team?” He says, a little bit thickly because his throat’s beginning to close up and it’s not like his lungs are doing much better at the moment.

 

“Rogers, Rhodes, Banner, and Thor are all fine. So am I, mostly. Your blue friend is helping them clean up with Rocket.” Her lips twitch, but she manages to deliver the next sentence with her usual composure. “He’s a talking raccoon, just so you know.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Vision... Thanos killed him when he took the stone. Sam, Wanda, T’Challa, Barnes, and Groot all got dusted.” A furrow appears between her brows. “He was a talking tree.”

 

Tony definitely feels a bit high at the moment. And sick. Like he’s simultaneously at the top of a rollercoaster and crashing at the bottom in a mess of twisted metal and debris.

 

“Oh,” he echoes, torn somewhere between grief and confusion at her words.

 

The look in her eyes grows pained.

 

“No contact from Clint, either, but his tracker’s still active. Not sure about Laura and the kids, though.” Natasha cuts herself off, turning her head to look over her shoulder and down the hallway at the sound of approaching footsteps. When she looks back at Tony, her expression is unreadable. “It’s Rogers.”

 

Tony’s heart seizes at the sound of his name. He’s nowhere near ready for this conversation. His fingers find the edges of the arc reactor, fumble with it.

 

Outside the open door, the sound of footsteps slow to a stop.

 

His hearing only catches the end of a murmured question he’s quite obviously not meant to hear.

 

“-he in there?”

 

From the bed, Tony shoots Natasha a pleading look that he hopes she manages to catch despite the fact that she’s half-turned to face Steve in the hall.

 

“He’s tired. I just left him to get some rest.”

 

With that, she steps out of the doorway and the door automatically slides shut as she goes, leaving Tony alone in the room.

 

He sighs and slumps back against the pillows, suddenly cold despite the fact that he knows he shouldn’t be.

 

The faces of the dead flash before his eyes in a cyclical slideshow of sorrow.

 

Even Barnes makes an appearance, surprisingly. Tony’s not as mad as he used to be about his parents’ deaths. How could he stay mad at someone who hadn’t been allowed to be in control of their own actions for decades? It had taken some time to swallow the fact that H.Y.D.R.A.’s brainwashing had been absolute, but he had.

 

It’s the duplicity on Rogers’ part that still stings. Would he have ever come forward with the truth on his own? Tony’s almost afraid to ask.

 

A shudder ripples through him at the thought of how Steve must be feeling right now.

 

To lose someone so close to oneself not only once, but twice...

 

His hands clench into fists at his sides.

 

He shouldn’t think of that right now.

 

He can’t afford to, because he’s drawing dangerously close to the breaking point he’s been hovering on the edge of reaching ever since Titan.

 

There’s barely enough room in his body for the grief he’s already carrying, let alone the grief of someone else’s loss.

 

Even if that someone is Steve Rogers.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So... 
> 
> First, I’d like to say that while I acknowledge they didn’t part of good terms in Civil War, Tony greeted Nat the way he did because, well, it’s the end of the world. He’s relieved to see a familiar face. Despite what happened at the airport, they were teammates for years. There is still a lot of love and respect between them. 
> 
> This does not mean that their past issues will be wiped away in future interactions. There’s still a lot to address there. However, in this instance, they were just two friends glad to see each other alive after half of their friends turned to dust before their eyes. Also, their brOTP means the world to me.
> 
> Anyways, I’ll go see myself to the corner of shame now for the angst-fest I just tossed your way.
> 
> Subscribe to this series for updates on the next installments!
> 
> Leave a review, hug a wayward mechanic in need of love and affection. <3


End file.
